What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas
by DebbieB
Summary: The real story of what happened on Luke and Tracy's wedding night. Not explicit, but does deal with sensual themes.


The room was spinning. Or at least, it appeared to be spinning. Or maybe it was the three Luke Spencers spinning, and the rest of the world was perfectly upright. Either way, Tracy knew she had to get her balance soon, or she'd join them all in the topsy-turvy dance that was spinning in her head.

She sat hard on the hotel bed, leaning onto one hand as the Lukes continued their version of "La Bamba," complete with a sombrero stolen from the cheesy Mexican dive where they'd had their impromptu wedding reception. All things said, he was pretty good, and she nodded in time as he mangled the Spanish words, his voice rising in crescendo until he finished with a flourish, tossing his sombrero into the air as he tumbled onto the bed next to her.

"There you are, my wife. A sultry serenade to celebrate our solemn…stuff." The three Luke Spencers had finally decided to join forces, coalescing into a single, spiky-haired representative who wrapped his arm around her. "How'd I do?"

"Bravo," she said, and leaned hard against him. It had been a beautiful wedding. A wedding for a princess, she told herself. Quite possibly the most beautiful wedding she'd ever attended. "That was quite possibly the most beautiful wedding I've ever attended," she informed her new husband. "Who got married again?"

"We got married again, my finely bred filly." He was drunk. She knew he was drunk, because he'd told her he was drunk, and Luke Spencer never lied about drunkenness, a fact he'd also told her.

"So we did! You know, I don't think I remembered to register." She rested her forehead against his chest for a moment, then pulled away to look deeply into his eyes. "And they said we'd never last…"

"We showed them, didn't we, Trace?"

"We sure did." She dissolved into a fit of laughter, fueled by several martinis before the ceremony and even more margaritas afterwards. "Daddy can't stop me now."

"Do you always do what Daddy says, Mrs. Spencer?" he whispered against the top of her head.

"Oooh, say it again!"

"Say what again?"

She smiled broadly, "Mrs. Spencer. That's a good one…my best married name yet." She twisted in his embrace, thrusting her left hand out in front of her to admire her wedding ring. "Tracy Spencer. Spencer, Tracy. Oh, get it? Tracy Spencer Spencer Tracy….like the movie star…." They were both laughing now, leaning against each other for support.

"You wear it well." He kissed the tip of her nose, and pulled her down onto the bed until they were laying, face up, next to each other. "I'm so glad we didn't go with the Elvis impersonator…"

"Elvis is _so_ Atlantic City," Tracy agreed, focusing on the ceiling tiles, which seemed to be doing the cha-cha-cha.

"Vegas all the way," he agreed. "Only the very best for my little puddin' pop,"

Tracy frowned, wrinkling her nose as she rolled onto her side, facing away from him with a disgusted "harrumph." "I am _not_ a pudding pop, sir. I happen to be a pretty, pink, peppermint Popsicle."

"I stand corrected." Luke wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back until they were spooned tightly together. As his hands caressed her belly, easing upwards to cup her breasts, he whispered into her ear, "Forgive me?"

"Uhhhh…." She struggled to verbalize even the simplest concepts as another wave of dizziness overtook her. "Um, yeah…." She wriggled back against him, delighting in his unexpectedly solid physique. Folding her arms across her chest, she clasped his hands in hers, hugging them together. "Totally forgiven," she added.

"That's good, because I'd hate to start off our life of connubial bliss with a faux pas of that magnitude." His lips were on her throat, hot breath against her skin as he placed kiss after kiss on her flesh, sending shivers of desire all through her body.

Tracy shrugged him away and, with a huge sigh of contentment, rolled over to face him. Their lips were only scant inches apart when she smiled, looking into his eyes. "At least this time, I know before hand."

"Know what?"

She lowered her eyes. A hundred voices screamed in her head, pulling her in a hundred different directions. She clung to the feelings, to the desire she felt, to the wonderful buzz from the alcohol. She didn't want to remember her other wedding nights, her other marriages, all the times she'd been disappointed.

Luke Spencer was a rogue and a con man and a very, very bad idea. And at the moment, she found herself quite enraptured with this very, very bad idea. She didn't want to spoil it by thinking too much, by remembering that he didn't love her--didn't even like her. That he'd been sniffing around her niece for ages. That he was inappropriate and incorrigible and insufferable, to say the very least.

She wanted to wrap herself in how she felt now, how desirable and sexy and wanted she felt. If she tried, just hard enough, she knew she could turn off her brain. She knew she could forget that happiness wasn't a thing intended for Tracy Quartermaine's personal use. "Do you know how many men I've married who have been in love with other women?" She tilted her head to the side, a momentary look of sadness flickering across her face. It didn't matter, not any more than the stunned look on his face at her frankness. All that mattered was now, and how she felt, and how she wanted to feel. Like a woman again. Like a lover… "At least this time, it won't come as a shock…."

She eased away him, pulling his shirt over his torso and tossing it onto the floor as she kissed his bare chest. "We both know where your heart is, Luke. But this is where your body is right now..."

Luke frowned, pulling her into a tender embrace. "Hey, Popsicle, enough of that…" But before he could say any more, she was out of his arms. She eased off the bed, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and disappeared into the bathroom.

His head was spinning. _Tequila and beer do not normally mix well, Spencer_, he told himself as he sprawled out on the hotel bed, waiting for Tracy to come out of the john. It had gone fairly well, all things considered. In fact, it was downright hilarious. Tracy Quartermaine, chief bitch and bottle washer, had turned out to be a hell of a fun date. From the wild Vegas wedding to the Mexican hat dance for two at La Casa del Cucaracha, she'd been game for anything he'd thrown out. If it hadn't been for that little matter of her holding his honestly pilfered dough hostage, Luke would be enjoying the hell out of her company right about now.

The door to the bathroom opened, and there she stood, framed in the doorway. She'd showered and brushed her hair, and now wore only his long-sleeved purple shirt. The shirt reached mid-thigh on her, and her legs, which were shapely and attractive for a woman of any age, were bare. She padded on bare feet through the room to stand next to where he was stretched out on the bed.

She looked good. Really good, he thought uncomfortably as she smiled down at him. Too damned good, in fact.

"Well, now, you look all comfy and ready for bed," he said, a little too cheerfully as she reached down to stroke his cheek with a long, manicured fingertip.

"You don't mind, do you, husband?" she asked as she opened the top button of the shirt, revealing an expanse of smooth, pale skin. "I didn't bring anything to sleep in." She grinned wickedly. "That is, if you _want_ me to sleep in something…." She unbuttoned another button, and Luke pulled her down onto the bed before she could get to a third.

This was getting out of hand quickly, he realized as she rolled on top of him, straddling him with those long legs of hers. He struggled to remember the score, that this was business and not pleasure, that he was taken and he really shouldn't be cheating on his girlfriend, especially not with his wife. But as her hands and the booze started working his body, it got harder to keep track of what was supposed to be going on. "Tracy," he started, but the thought was lost as she pressed forward to kiss him, her tongue tickling the tip of his own tongue as she wrapped herself into his arms.

"I've been married before," she whispered, her body warm and soft against his own. "I know what this part is all about." She moaned gently and pressed her lips against his jaw, licking lightly upwards until she was nibbling his ear lobe.

He fought to keep his thoughts together. Luke was a seat-of-the-pants kind of guy, and he hadn't really planned this far in advance. The idea of marrying Tracy to get his money back had been a wild one, and he'd really never believed it would work. He never believed it would get this far, and he certainly hadn't planned for her to be…well, enticing. "Hot" was the word that came to mind as her fingers began to tug at his trousers. Really hot…like Nevada in August hot…

"Tracy…" he tried again, but she silenced him with another kiss. It was a practiced, perfectly executed kiss, delivered by a woman who no doubt knew exactly what she wanted in a kiss, and exactly how to please a man with her mouth. Luke shuddered, torn between keeping his eye on the prize and letting his baser instincts muddy up the plan.

The shirt she'd borrowed was thin, and it clung to her body as she lay atop him. Luke allowed his hands to trace a path down her back. Tracy normally wore tailored outfits or loose flowing things, clothes that never really advertised the fact that she had a figure. But there was no disguising the soft curves and planes of her body, the shapely expanse of her legs, the feel of her toes as they played with his shoes, easing them and then his socks off his feet, then tracing their way under the cuff of his trousers to tickle his ankles.

A pang of guilt shot through him. He wasn't about taking advantage of women anymore; in fact, he'd spent years of his life overcoming the one time he did. This thing with Tracy…this was business. This was about cash.

Not about the fact that she smelled like a million bucks, or that her hair was soft and shiny against his cheek. It wasn't about the fact that he could barely control his breathing, or his hands, or his desire to return her advances. She was like a fine sports car--he was so tempted just to take her out for a spin, just to see how fast they could go. How wild the ride could be…

But she was also very drunk, and obviously not in control of her actions. Of course she wasn't in control of her actions. He'd known Tracy Quartermaine for years, and she'd never shown him the slightest bit of interest. In fact, her normal reaction to him was the one she reserved for bugs smashed up against the windshield.

Not hot kisses against his neck, or soft breasts pressed against his chest, not sweet words of encouragement or looks of desire in those eyes. This was the alcohol talking, the alcohol and her horror at what she thought her child had done. Horror at what he'd convinced her Dillon had done, what he'd planned from the start.

This was desperation and despair, and suddenly Luke felt very, very dirty.

"Hold that thought, Precious," he said, extricating her from his arms. "Call of nature."

"Hurry back," she said. He turned to look at her, regret and desire warring in him. She was actually quite lovely. No, she was beautiful and desirable, and sexy enough to shake his resolve.

He knew in his heart that she'd sleep with him if he let it happen, and that she'd hate herself in the morning. Actually, whether she slept with him or not, she was going to hate herself in the morning. He had to make her think they'd slept together, so she wouldn't go out and get an annulment first thing in the morning.

But at this point, what mattered more to him was whether _he_ could live with himself in the morning. Money was money, and Tracy deserved a lot of things for what she'd done. But she didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to be made vulnerable, and to be used like this. Even if he was only a sham husband, he had his pride. He knew the kind of creeps Tracy had been unlucky enough to marry, and he figured himself a cut above them. He might trick her, annoy her, blackmail her, infuriate her…but he wouldn't rape her.

Sooner or later, come hell or high water, she'd give him his divorce _and_ his money. Then, and only then, he'd tell her the truth. That nothing had happened. That he hadn't taken advantage of her. That she didn't have to hate herself for what she thought they'd done tonight.

With one last look of regret, he made his way to the john. She was stretched out like a cat…no, like a tiger. A fierce, sensual tiger who could no doubt kill him as easily as kiss him. It was an attractive sight.

By the time he got back, she'd probably be out cold. The combination of exhaustion and booze, without any stimulus from him, would make an effective sleeping pill. He suspected he'd look back on tonight for the rest of his life, wondering what it would have been like to make love to this woman. But in the meantime, business was business. And Luke Spencer was all business.

The End


End file.
